Vicious Intent
by Wyndhamfan
Summary: Chase develops a sudden illness, but the cause of his sickness may be more surprising than House can anticipate. Takes place after Finding Judas.
1. Chapter 1

**Vicious Intent**

**By Wyndhamfan**

**Notes: **This is my first House fanfic. Now, I must say that writing House fanfic is ... damn difficult! The kind of research you have to do. OMG. Still, despite all the research, I'm pretty sure I didn't get everything right, so to medically-inclined people out there, apologies if I got anything wrong. But I still had fun writing this, so if you love Chase torture, I mean, Chase-centric stories, here you are. (I think there aren't enough out there!)

**Spoilers: **Takes place after the third season episode "Finding Judas".

**Disclaimers: **_House _and all the characters in the marvelous medical show does not belong to me, and I'm not earning a penny from this fanfic. Yup.

**Chapter 1**

The waitress appraised him frankly. Her dusky brown eyes lingered on his face, then traveled to his chest, as if studying the quality of his rumpled shirt. Then, she met his eyes and lifted an amused eyebrow.

"Well, that's weird," she drawled in her low, husky voice.

Chase fixed an empty gaze on the brunette.

"Weird?" he asked, barely interested to know what she meant.

"That's your fifth glass of _soda _for the night. Usually, when a banged-up guy comes to a bar he wants to get drunk. But I think your drug of choice is sugar," she said, amused.

"Being drunk is a novelty I'm not interested in," he muttered as he took another sip from his glass. "Seen it far too many times. Been on the receiving end of it more times than that."

The waitress cocked her head to one side.

"You work at the hospital, don't you?"

He shrugged.

"Yeah, he does," said a gruff voice to his right.

Surprised, Chase turned to see a man, whose features were hidden in the dark corner he'd chosen to sit in, studying him.

"You work for that House person," said the stranger.

Chase turned away irritably. It seemed that he couldn't escape that name even here.

"He's a good doc," said the man.

He let out a bitter laugh.

"Yeah, he's a corker," he said.

"A what?"

"Never mind," he muttered. _Yanks, _he thought.

"Guess you got the short end of the stick today, didn't you?"

"Look-" Chase began with a firm intention to tell the man to stick it, but before he could do so, the stranger gestured at the waitress and said: "The next soda's on me, Susan."

And the next thing he knew, he was talking to the man. And as he downed the drink that the man bought for him, he was surprised to know how much he knew about House.

"I've been following his work. Impressive," said the man levelly.

Chase knew that he was right, but he didn't feel like being part of the "rah-rah House" team tonight, so he kept silent.

"But I know he's also a fucking pain in the ass," drawled the man a few moments later.

Chase looked up in surprise and grinned despite his sour mood.

"Personal experience?" he asked. He couldn't help but be intrigued by the man's implied relationship with House.

The stranger grinned, his pearly whites the only thing Chase could see of his features.

"Like you wouldn't believe," the man said and raised his glass. "Here's to class-A jerks," he said.

Hesitantly, Chase clinked glasses with the stranger. After downing their drinks, the man reached into his pocked and took out a silver flask.

"Now, let's try something stronger, shall we?"

o O o O o

7am. It has been one and a and half hours since House rudely paged them out of bed, but he was no where to be seen. Not that he cared that they were dragged out of bed unceremoniously at 5.30am, thought Foreman as he twiddled with his pen. Nope, House had his own set of rules.

"You think he's okay?" Cameron murmured, her gaze fixed vacantly at the empty white board.

"Why shouldn't he be?" Foreman didn't have to be a psychic to know who "he" was. It was Cameron and her incessant concern for a man who didn't deserve her care.

"One word: Tritter," she said, giving him a look.

"Oh, _that," _but Foreman didn't offer anything beyond that. Instead, he said: "Did you hear?"

Cameron frowned at the change of topic. "Hear what?"

"House hit Chase last night," he grinned at that.

"What?" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Everybody saw it. What, you didn't know?" Foreman said with feigned surprise. "Man, you have to hang around the water cooler more often," he said giving her a big grin.

"How can you find this funny?" Cameron snapped indignantly.

"How can it _not _be funny? House _finally _hits Chase for what we all know he did."

Cameron sighed. "We still am not sure-"

"It's funny you're defending him. Believe me, he _did._ He's a survivor, a self-preserving creature of instinct – he knows what he has to do to survive," he said.

Cameron supressed the wave of anger she felt. He wasn't sure what she was angry at, however. Whether it was Foreman, who was enjoying Chase's apparent betrayal or Chase turning on House. Again.

Cameron sighed and leaned her forehead against a hand. Sometimes she wondered why she hung on to this job, what with a boss with a drug problem, manipulative idiots like Tritter who got in their way of doing their jobs and traitorous colleagues.

"What are we going to do?" she sighed.

"Besides making Tritter disappear? Nothing," Foreman said.

The door to the office suddenly slammed open and House strode in with his backpack nearly falling off his shoulder.

"Cases? Anyone?" he yelled.

"Wait, I thought you called us in because we _have _a case," Foreman said indignantly.

"Aw shucks, did I? Sorry, what I meant to say was ... yes, we _do _have a case. Just wanted to see how you reacted," House said, grinning as he deposited his bag unceremoniously on his table.

Foreman scowled. "I don't need your jokes at 7am, House," he grumbled.

"Is it true?" Cameron demanded.

"What? That I'm smarter than all of you combined? All true," he said.

"That you hit Chase," she said, her voice dripping with accusation.

"Aw, did he came crying to you? Was he sad?" House put on a mock sad face.

"Crying? I'd rather die than shed a tear over your misreable carcass," came a slurred reply.

All heads turned to the door where Chase stood in the same rumpled suit he wore yesterday and looking as if he crawled out of something unhealthy.

"Dramatic, much?" House said sardonically.

Chase took a step forward – or tried too. His knees wobbled, and if it weren't for a conveniently placed chair nearby, his knees would've probably given out.

"Screw you, House," he growled.

Cameron wrinkled her nose when she caught whiff of alcohol and exclaimed: "Are you _drunk_?"

Foreman looked at House, then at Chase, and then grinned. The drama that began last night had taken and even more interesting turn.

House threw Cameron and Foreman a look. "And they say that _I _have a problem," he said.

"Did Cuddy see you?" Cameron demanded of Chase.

Chase blinked and looked drunkenly around until he found Cameron.

"What? I'm not drunk!" he slurred in reply.

Cameron shot him a look of disbelief mixed with disgust.

"What you have,is a 'problem'," said House, who made open quotation marks with his hands.

"You're the one to talk," he slurred. Then Chase burst into giggles.

Foreman grinned wider.

"Stop enjoying this," Cameron hissed at the neurologist.

"Try stop me," he replied, his eyes still on House and the barely-standing Chase.

Chase swayed precariously. "He said he will not stop until you realise ...," he blinked as he trailed off, then he frowned and shook his head. "My head hurts," he muttered.

House, however, didn't look amused nor did he look impressed. He was, interestingly enough, silent as he looked at Chase with an unreadable expression.

"So, you did rat him out," said Foreman.

Cameron's expression became incredulous and she shifted her glare to Chase.

Chase stared at his colleagues, who were both studying him with various levels of disgust and (for Foreman) amusement, and suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of anger.

"And why shouldn't I?" he snarled. Then just as quickly he burst out laughing. "What do I owe a sanctimonious bitch, a grinning idiot and an egoistic monster?"

Foreman's grin faltered.

"Do I get to be a sanctimonious bitch?" House asked, giving Cameron a pleading look.

Chase looked away, and he suddenly looked confused.

"Where am I?" he whispered. Then, without warning, his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell unceremoniously on the floor.

Cameron and Foreman stared in shock at the now-unconscious Chase. House, however, merely stepped over his prone body and began writing on the white board.

"Now that we've gotten our morning entertainment, let me introduce you to Pauline Worthington..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Note: **Hello everyone, thank you for the encouraging reviews! Here's the moment we've been waiting for, when everything goes to hell for ... everyone, especially poor Chase. Enjoy! Disclaimers in part 1. Thanks!

oOooOooOooOo

His head was pounding. That was the first thing he realised. That, and the fact that he felt warm. _Too _warm. As he dwelled on that thought, a cough bubbled out from his lungs and he flinched, surprised at the stab of pain in his chest.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

The woman's voice stabbed into his aching head and his eyes snapped open instantly, but all he saw was an oak table. The mahogany desk clock on the wall beyond the table said 10.25am ... he was in an office. Certainly not his, since he didn't have anything that grand (nor liked that kind of décor). Disoriented, he blinked to clear his foggy vision but was startled when someone shook his shoulder roughly.

"Are you _drunk?_" said the same shrill, irritated voice.

Carefully, he craned his head towards the direction of the voice and was surprised when his eyes finally landed on the face of the enraged Dean of Medicine, Lisa Cuddy.

"What are you doing here?" he wondered out loud. His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy.

"For one, this is _my_ office," she said hotly.

That snapped him out of his fog. Chase sat up quickly – but had to brace himself on the arm of the sofa to combat the wave of nausea that came with the movement – and shook his head in confusion.

"What? How ... how did I get here?" he asked, running a shaky hand through his damp, matted hair. God, it was _hot_.

If it was possible, Cuddy looked angrier. "Get out!" she snapped.

"What? What the hell is going on?" he demanded. The last thing he remembered was walking to the bar near his place. He vaguely remembered getting a drink and then ... _this_.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he demanded.

Cuddy looked exasperated this time. "First, you pass out in my office, drunk, and next you ask me if I pulled a prank on you?"

"That's not what I-"

"I have far better things to do than to play tricks on doctors, and you know it's against hospital policy to come in like this!" she snapped.

He winced, then coughed. "Look I ..." he began ... then felt tired when he saw her furious expression. "Okay, all right, I'll go," he hissed against the pain in his head. He was too tired and too confused to figure this out with an angry person around.

He wobbled to his feet, surprised at how dizzy he felt. He looked uncertainly at Cuddy, sighed, then trudged towards the doors, cradling his aching head in a hand.

He heard Cuddy sigh, then said: "Dr. Chase. Wait."

He turned to look at her through squinted eyes.

"I heard about what happened," she said.

God, he didn't need this now.

"It's _fine_," he muttered irritably and turned away to leave again, but Cuddy stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"What are you going to do about it?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he said tersely.

"You have a right to lodge a complaint," she said, now in a strangely gentle tone.

"And then what? It's not as if it's going to change anything," he said, more harshly than he intended. He sighed again - this time in frustration. "I'm sorry. It's just been a crappy week."

Cuddy sighed. "Isn't it for all of us. I'll let you go this time – seeing what you've been put through yesterday, and today, judging by the fact that you can barely walk straight let alone break into my office. But don't let me catch you drunk in the hospital ever again."

"Of course," he said dully and walked as quickly as his aching body would allow.

OoOoOoOoo

Chase managed to find his way to the doctor's lounge despite his dizziness and growing anxiety over his inability to remember how he got to the hospital, let alone Cuddy's office. When he entered the room, the few doctors who were there turned towards him. Some grinned, while others openly chuckled as he stumbled to his locker.

"Great, which one of you doofuses stuffed me in Cuddy's office?" he demanded, then coughed.

At that, the doctors got up – almost as one – and left the room, some patting him on the shoulder as if he'd done something funny. The last among the lot was Foreman, who gave him a smile and asked: "Had a good nap?" Then, chuckling to himself, he followed the others out.

"I don't need this," Chase muttered, rubbing his aching jaw. He shuffled wearily to the mirror and discovered that the bruise on his jaw had turned a livid purple. He closed his eyes, feeling a mixture of anger and embarrassment as he recalled how he got the bruise in the first place.

His eyes were also bloodshot, and sweat had plastered his matted blond hair to his head. In short: he was a total mess.

"I'm not going to wait anymore," he muttered to himself, repeating what he said to Wilson last night.

"Wait for what?" a voice demanded.

He turned tired eyes towards Cameron, who stood there with her arms crossed indignantly. Her eyes were hard and accusing – yet another person mad at him for reasons he could not remember.

"And you're mad because...?" he drawled.

"You don't remember, do you?"

"Apparently not," he sighed. Despite being in the cool, air-conditioned lounge, he was still sweating heavily. His day had just gotten better – he must be coming down with a cold.

"You came in drunk today. And then you yelled, no, cursed at everyone, and passed out cold on the floor. You're lucky Cuddy didn't see you and haul you up for suspension."

That piece of information sent a surprising spike of fear through him. "What?" he breathed. He didn't remember doing any of that.

How often had he dealt with this with his mother? How many weepy morning afters did he have to endure, with her apologizing for hitting him or calling him "the spawn of that Czech bastard"? He had vowed never to go down the route she was on.

"You really don't remember, do you?" This time Cameron sounded concerned.

"No," he muttered, sinking down on a bench near the lockers. His heart began to thud loudly in his chest, and his chest began to tighten in panic. He was sure ... sure that he did not drink at the bar. He never had the desire to drink himself to oblivion – not after what he'd seen in his life. He tried hard to remember what he did, but came up with a blank.

"Never had blackouts after drinking too much before?" Cameron asked, her voice cutting through his confusion.

He gave her a hard look. "I don't get drunk."

"And I'm supposed to believe that," Cameron said sarcastically.

He suddenly felt tired about it all. House's insufferable attitude, Tritter, his colleagues believing that he had betrayed House, and now the missing few hours from his life.

"I don't care what the fuck you believe," he hissed, and got up, intending fully to march away indignantly.

But the effect was marred when black spots suddenly danced in his vision, and the world suddenly tipped. He grabbed the nearby sink in surprise when he stumbled and began to cough helplessly. His chest burned from deep inside.

"Chase? Are you all right?" Gentle hands touched his face and he jerked away irritably.

"I'm fine. Leave me alone, damn it!" he said breathlessly between coughs, stumbling away from Cameron. He had to get out of this place. This hospital, away from House and everyone. It became a burning mission as he stumbled away.

"You're not fine. You're burning up!"

Cameron intercepted his wobbly path to the door and stopped him by lightly placing her hands on his shoulders.

"It's just a cold," he said, but his attempt at convincing her failed miserably when a strong shudder passed through his body. When it had been hot before, it was now horribly cold. He trembled violently as he fixed determined eyes on Cameron, knowing that he wasn't fooling anyone with his tough act now.

Cameron studied his reaction and shook her head. "It's not just a cold. I'm going to call House," she said.

Chase cursed. "For God's s-s-sakes. I don't need him," he snapped. He brushed past a protesting Cameron and gladly escaped into the busy corridor outside. But his freedom was short lived when he felt a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. Confused at the sudden onslaught of sickness, he stopped in the middle of the crowd, wondering what the hell is happening to him.

The crowd outside made his confusion worse; his vision began to fog and the people who walked by him turned into ghost-like figures which he couldn't focus on. He felt a curious sense of detachment as he stumbled past them towards a destination he now couldn't remember ... he couldn't even remember clearly why he wanted to escape Cameron so much. He faintly heard someone calling his name, but he grew dizzy when he tried to focus on the voice.

"Chase!"

He jerked at the sound of his name, and tried to look around to find who it was that called him. But the world began to spin madly.

Then he felt the cold melt into heat and suddenly he was on fire again. He looked blearily at the now puzzled faces around him and closed his eyes against their intrusive gazes.

That was a mistake. When he opened his eyes again, he found that he didn't know which way was up or down ... and then he was falling ...

ooOoooOoOoo

Wilson looked up when he heard a knock on his door. He wasn't surprised when a chagrined-looking House peeked inside his office.

"You presentable?"

"Depends what you mean by presentable," he replied as he shuffled the remaining case files he was reassigning.

Wilson didn't have to do an examination to know that House felt like hell. There were dark circles under his eyes and lines of pain on his face. Withdrawal was not kind to House; it will only get worse especially now that Tritter is tightening his hold on the staff.

They stared at each silently. House twirled his cane while Wilson merely stared.

"So," House began.

"So," he answered flatly. Wilson found it difficult to meet House's eyes ... afraid that the man would see the truth in them.

After another strained silence, House took one determined step forward. "Look, neither of us is very good at this-"

"House!"

Both men looked up in surprise to see Cuddy at the doorway, her hands on her hips.

"We're having a man-to-man conversation here? Last time I checked you didn't have a penis," House said.

"Shut up. You've gone too far this time, House," she said, her voice steely.

He straightened up, his mouth in a tight, grim line. "So, you've heard."

"Yes, I've heard. And I have no idea why Chase wouldn't report you, but no matter – you've crossed the line. You've done enough."

Wilson realised what Cuddy immediately – he remembered the night with Chase and the sandwiches. Surprisingly, House didn't come back with his usual sarcastic rebuttal.

"It just happened," he said, his tone subdued.

"Just happened? You attacked a subordinate!"

"Now, 'attacked' would be stretching it," he said.

"I can't keep doing this, House. Maybe it's time to reconsider whether you're good for this hospital," she said, her voice low.

Wilson stood up at that. "Come on, you can't seriously-"

Suddenly, a pager went off. All three reached for theirs, but only House's registered a message. He read it and when he looked up, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

"What?" Cuddy asked in concerned

House didn't bother answering. Without a word, he walked out of the door, leaving a bewildered Wilson and a startled Cuddy behind.

"House? What's going on?" Cuddy called out.

oOooOooOo

When Foreman roped in some residents to pull that prank on Chase, Cameron was, of course, not pleased.

"Last time I checked, eight-year-olds didn't graduate from medical school," she said caustically as the men picked up Chase's prone figure.

"Call this an early onset of dementia," Foreman grinned as he gestured for the others to haul Chase away to Cuddy's room.

"He had it coming," Foreman said pointedly to Cameron.

"What's next? You're going to spit on his food?"

"Come on, that's unprofessional. Why use spit when there are laxatives?" said Dr Bruce Hodgkins, surgery intern and someone Cameron once described as a "professional idiot".

As Foreman strode across the foyer, he grinned at the memory of the morning's juvenile activities. Sure brought back memories of med school; before the days of House, Vogel and Tritter.

Speaking of which, here was Chase walking towards him now, just a few steps away from him.

His grin faded, however, when he saw Chase falter and bump into someone clumsily. And since the hospital was overcrowded today because of a bus accident near the hospital, the excitable teenagers, with their concerned parents and overworked teachers, weren't making things easy for Chase as he weaved his way unsteadily through the crowd.

_He's still drunk? _He thought, puzzled. _That can't be right._

"Chase!" he called out as he walked quickly towards him.

Foreman saw Chase jerk in surprise and turn his unfocused gaze everywhere except at him. It was all the clue Foreman needed to know that there was something seriously wrong with the intensivist. He increased his pace, pushing his way forward through the crowd-

And then, without warning, Chase collapsed heavily.

"Shit!" he cursed as he broke into a run.

The crowd parted neatly for him. However, when he knelt beside Chase's prone body, the murmur at the lobby increased and curious onlookers began gathering around them.

"Everyone, give them some room!" someone yelled. Foreman vaguely realised that was Cameron.

But right now, his attention was on Chase who lay on the cold floor of the hospital lobby. His face was flushed and he was sweating heavily – Foreman didn't have to touch Chase's skin to know that he was burning up with fever. And although he was unconscious, Chase seemed anxious; his breathing was quick and shallow, his head moved restlessly and his eyes fluttering but never really fully opening.

Cameron knelt near Chase's prone body and felt for his pulse. "Pulse is quick and thready," she reported. "Was he symptomatic this morning?" she asked Foreman.

"No. No fever that we could feel. He was just intoxicated. You saw him," he said.

In his mind, Foreman was already noting down Chase's symptoms: High fever, chills, confusion, dyspnea ...

"Chase? Chase, can you -" but before Cameron could complete her sentence, Chase curled into himself and began coughing and shaking violently. Instinctively, Foreman reached out to steady the man but then his eyes widened when he realised that the floor was flecked with blood.

Immediately, Cameron yelled: "Someone page House!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: **Thank you so much for the reviews. Here's the next part!

Disclaimers in part 1.

**Chapter Three**

Someone was shaking him. He wished whoever it was would stop, because he could feel sleep slipping away and wakefulness beckoning. And he had a feeling that he wouldn't like being awake. And as he became more aware of his body, he realised that his entire body was shaking, and he was curled up on his side ... and that he was cold and hot at the same time. Then he coughed, and it sent stabs of pain into his chest. The coughing seemed to go on forever but when it finally stopped, it left him panting breathlessly.

"Chase?" He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Other sensations came back to him. He could feel that his body was slick with sweat. His hair was plastered to his forehead ... and then there was the sound of rhythmic beeps.

"Chase?" asked the voice again.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Or tried to, at least. They felt as if they were weighed down by weights. After some effort, his eyes opened a crack, but the bright light beyond it sent shafts of pain into his head. He groaned weakly and closed his eyes again.

"It's okay, I lowered the lights. You can open your eyes now," said the voice.

He recognised who it was. Cameron. Of course, it had to be Cameron. He couldn't imagine Foreman and House holding his hand by his bedside, nor did he ever want to.

He opened his eyes and was taken aback to see that it was House who peered down at him.

"Don't worry, I didn't eat Cameron. I just became her for a while," he gave him a lopsided grin.

"I'm right here, Chase," said Cameron from somewhere behind House. Listlessly, he turned his head slightly towards her and saw that she was injecting something into his IV line.

"It's a wide spectrum antibiotic for your fever," she said. She withdrew the syringe and disposed it, then walked towards him with a small smile.

"You appear to cough up some blood when you collapsed earlier, but we discovered that the blood was from a cut on the inside of your lip, which you probably got when you collapsed," she explained.

Chase blinked his eyes wearily. He only understood about a quarter of what she said. "I ... what?" he slurred, confused.

Then House snapped his fingers between them.

"Ok, lovey-dovey time over. I want some answers now," House demanded.

_Why must House treat me, of all people? _Chase wondered desperately. He already felt exhausted just listening to him.

"What happened?" he whispered and was taken aback at how weak he sounded. And how much effort it took to speak – it felt as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. It was then that he became aware of the nasal cannula snaking across his face.

"Don't you remember?" Cameron asked.

"I was ... in the lounge ... walked out ... then, nothing much beyond that," he gasped out.

"Okay ... do you at least remember when your fever started?" Cameron asked.

"It was there when I woke up," he breathed.

"And what time would that be?" House asked.

"10.25am," he said weakly. His eyelids began to droop.

"Chase, stay awake," Cameron said gently. She placed her hand on his shoulder and shook it gently.

He blinked heavily.

"What other symptoms did you have?" Cameron asked.

"Dizzy. Nauseous. I was coughing..." he trailed off, feeling sleep tugging at him again.

"And a whole collage of colourful symptoms you didn't bother mentioning. Like the fact that you were seeing pink elephants this morning," House interrupted. "Now, what I want to know is what drugs you took last night to make you looopy."

He shook his head feebly. "No drugs," he whispered. He rolled his eyes up to look at House. "Why are you even interested in my case? I probably have, at worse, pneumonia," he said weakly.

"Maybe I like to deal with simple cases involving simple people once in a while. Now, _tell _me what you took," from House's tone, it was clear that he was growing impatient.

The door to Chase's ICU room swung open and Foreman strode in. "The chest x-ray results will be in later. He's awake?" he asked.

_The whole gang is here. Lucky me_, Chase thought sardonically. He closed his eyes and tried to muster enough strength to sound firm.

"There were _no _drugs," he said as levelly as he could.

"Chase, all of us saw you this morning. To say that you weren't rational was a big understatement," Foreman said.

"I told you, I don't remember taking any drugs," he said angrily.

"So, you being drunk and calling House an 'egoistical monster' was part of an act? You stank of whiskey!" Foreman crossed his arms, disbelief etched on his features.

He closed his eyes; the old fear of losing control like his mother returned. "I ... I don't remember saying that. I don't remember drinking or what happened last night. Or this morning."

_You have to believe me, _he wanted to beg. But he will never do that in front of these three.

"Because you took drugs," House said, nodding.

He shook his head. "No," he gasped out. "All I remember was ... walking to the bar. Then-" he took another gasping breath. "Then I woke up in Cuddy's office." He stopped, and coughed weakly. He clutched his chest, and screwed his eyes shut from the pain.

Cameron frowned in concern. "House, maybe we should-"

"Since you can't remember what happened after you walk to the bar, it could simply mean that you took the drugs during that time," Foreman said.

He felt the vise around his chest tightening. "I _wouldn't_," he hissed.

"Come on. House just hit you. You were pissed. Maybe you took something to 'lighten up'," Foreman countered.

"I don't need anything to 'lighten up'. Think whatever you want of me. But I won't do that," he said breathlessly. "And why should you focus on this supposed ... drug-" he took a deep breath. "-when I have a fever. I'm _sick_. Not drugged," he gasped out.

"Tell me, don't tell me, I'll find out anyway. But it will make the trip shorter if you tell me what you were snorting," House said, his voice hard.

"Are you deaf? I told you I don't remember," he gasped. He began trembling again; he sank deeper into the bed, wishing he could be swallowed by it so he could disappear.

"House, for God's sakes, that's enough!" Cameron snapped.

"You know, I expected better from you. Amnesia is probably the lamest excuse I've heard from a lying patient," House said.

Chase's pale face flushed with anger. With great effort, he pushed himself up, but managed only halfway before collapsing exhausted on his side. As he screwed his eyes shut, his world was reduced to taking one struggling breath to the next.

He felt the nasal cannula being removed by deft, gentle fingers and then felt a gush of oxygen as a mask replaced it. He took a grateful breath, and then closed his eyes, this time refusing to be roused again. Sleep ... sleep was a more attractive alternative right now.

Thankfully, he slid to sleep immediately after that.

OoooOo

They watched as Chase drifted off to sleep. His quick, shallow, uneven breaths settled into something more stable, though it was by no means normal. When he was finally asleep, they visibly relaxed – even House. And if glares could burn, Cameron's would've bored a hole through House's head.

"You pushed him too hard!" Cameron snapped.

"Not hard enough. Because we still don't know why he's sick," said House.

"It's pneumonia," Foreman snapped. "It could be possible that he got drunk the night before and came down with pneumonia."

"Overnight?" House prodded.

Foreman opened his mouth to counter House's statement, but Cameron had other ideas.

"Don't you even feel a slight twinge of remorse?" Cameron asked indignantly.

"Remorse is a wasteful emotion. Especially right now," House said. His voice, however, was bereft of his usual sarcasm. His eyes remained fixed on Chase's pale pained features. Although he was now asleep, his sleep was by no means restful. His body remained tense and stiff, as if he was bracing himself against an onslought of pain.

Foreman was by then ignoring Cameron and House's exchange and listening to Chase's chest with a stethoscope.

"His breathing is still laboured but at least it's stable now. But I hear rales," Foreman reported from Chase's bedside.

Suddenly, the door to Chase's ICU room swung open. All three turned to see a confused Dr Cuddy standing beside Dr Jensen Wong, who looked shocked then furious.

"What are you doing with _my _patient?" Dr Wong demanded hotly.

Foreman and Cameron threw House accusing looks.

"Oops," he said, grinning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Vicious Intent**

**Notes: **Where were you? Some of you may be wondering. Well, to be precise, I was all over England on an exhausting business trip where I was wined, dined and handed a lot of documents. But it's all over now, and I'm back! And as a big sorry for the delay, here's a big fat chapter. Again, reviews are very much appreciated. (Long reviews are a great bonus for me, hint hint. I know, I'm so thick skinned, aren't I?)

Oh yeah, here's where the medical bits start coming in. Here's a big disclaimer: I'm not a doctor! So forgive me if I've made any mistakens. Just imagine yourself in another dimension where all these badly-researched medical stuff is true.

Disclaimers in Part 1

**Chapter Four**

"Let me guess. She was furious."

"Furious is another way of her saying that she's a sore loser," House answered.

"Sometimes your logic astounds me," Wilson dead panned.

They were outside Chase's room, watching him sleep while Dr Wong examined him. A nurse was busy mopping Chase's still sweaty brow - a scene which Wilson suspected that House was storing in his memory banks to use for future Chase-ribbing sessions.

Chase, to put it simply, looked like crap. Wilson was so shocked at how much he had deteriorated since the last time he saw him that this whole thing seemed surreal. Just yesterday, Chase was angrily swabbing peanut butter on a few slices of bread, looking bruised but otherwise healthy. Today, he looked like one of his cancer patients – only his patients usually took weeks to look like that, not mere hours.

Dr Wong began taking Chase's blood pressure. Wilson frowned when he saw the pulmonologist shake his head. Whatever the results were, Dr Wong didn't look pleased.

Wilson had long ceased to wonder why he and House were doing here or why the man was so very interested in Chase's condition that he'd try so hard to snatch away another doctor's patient. House shirked work so much that such an act was unheard of. Wilson had also given up trying to find out why House was so convinced Chase took drugs. House's leaps of logic were often mind boggling; this one was no different.

"You know what I think?" Wilson thought out loud.

House threw Wilson a furtive glance. "Thinking is not good at this time of the night. You'll get indigestion from straining your brain so hard."

"I think you're doing this because you feel guilty," he gave House a smug grin.

"Oh, right! That explains _everything. _Don't leave your day job, Dr Phil," House said scornfully.

"Then why the concern? Dr Wong is a great pulmonologist, not a doctor fresh out of medical school. So: You want to make up for that punch you gave Chase. _You _feel guilty," he said triumphantly.

"Am _not_. Take that back," House retorted.

Wilson chuckled.

House scoffed and said: "What I am concerned about is Dr Wong ignoring the obvious. Pulmonologist or not, he's not even running a tox screen."

"Ah. The tox screen. _Again. _I heard about this saying once. Something about a pot and a kettle," he said. How ironic, thought Wilson. Perhaps House was projecting, seeing his problems in Chase. Problem is, Chase probably didn't share the same problem.

"Funny, I don't get how the saying ties in with Dr Wong being a moron," House retorted.

Wilson sighed, then paused as realisation hit him. "Where is Foreman and Cameron?" he asked suspiciously.

"Taking tango lessons," he retorted.

"_House_. You did it, didn't you?"

"Well, technically, I'm not doing anything." House smiled. "Cameron and Foreman are doing it."

oOoOoOo

"So, this is Chase's apartment. For some reason, I expected something more sterile," Foreman remarked.

Chase had a small, serviceable studio near the hospital that had a bare kitchenette that looked as if it was barely used, a bed behind a stack of shelves housing an eclectic collection of medical textbooks and novels, and a tiny sitting area with a beat up TV that looked as if it was barely functioning. A well-used guitar leaned against an armchair. Foreman looked at it in fascination.

"He plays? Didn't take him for a creative type," he said in surprise.

"What are we even doing here?" Cameron thought out loud. "Why would House send us to check out his apartment when Chase only has pneumonia?"

"What, you've made up your mind about what he has already?"

"Do we have any reason at all to suspect it's anything _but _that?" Cameron shot back.

"He was high," he said, then shrugged.

"Like _you _said, he could've been drunk and have pneumonia."

"Only explaining how House thinks," said Foreman who shrugged as he picked up a photo frame sitting on the telephone table.

"Put that back," Cameron said tiredly as she went through Chase's fridge. Apparently, Chase didn't believe in stocking up his fridge. There was barely anything there except for a lonely, beyond-expiry-date apple and a carton of ... expired milk. She frowned.

"What? Am I not allowed to wonder who the woman with Chase is?" He showed her the photo. It was of a young, red-headed woman and a younger-looking Chase.

Cameron rolled her eyes. "I feel like enough of a creep already. Chase is lying in a hospital bed and we are invading his apartment, pawing through his stuff like a bunch of thieves. I'm sure you'd like that too if House did that to you," she said sarcastically.

She felt a rush of satisfaction when she saw a tinge of guilt on Foreman's face.

"He's going to be fine," he said, changing the subject abruptly. "Two out of three from House's department coming down with a strange, difficult-to-diagnose disease? That is a stretch." He laughed shortly at that. "Either that or it's getting to be plain bad luck hanging around House."

After the debacle in Chase's room, Cuddy had firmly told the diagnostician that he should butt out of other doctors' cases _or else_. House wasn't even supposed to be treating Chase and conveniently failed to inform them of the fact, which made Cuddy speechless with amazement.

Meanwhile, Chase's _real_ doctor, Dr Wong, was more than a little furious when he found out that House caused his patient to nearly pass out from a near-brush with respiratory distress. But, House being House, ignored Cuddy's directive and told Cameron and Foreman to "check for his stash" in his apartment. Cameron found House's assumption of Chase's drug use irritating and more than a little hypocritical.

"I found expired milk. But as far as I know, expired milk doesn't cause pneumonia or any of his symptoms," she said, trying to distract herself from her moody thoughts.

"Bag it anyway," Foreman said distractedly.

"We're looking blind!" she said, shoving the milk carton into a bag none too gently. "What the hell are we looking for anyway? Chase is going to be so pissed when he finds out," Cameron grumbled under her breath.

"That we're going through his stuff or that we still don't believe that he's drug free?"

"Both," Cameron said, nearly growling.

"Face it. House is just doing this because he likes to torture Chase."

"As if the punch isn't enough?" Cameron remarked. "House doesn't do anything for no reason. He must suspect something."

"He also happens to be in a great need for diversion, thanks to Tritter. Chase is just a way for him to 'refocus'," Foreman said.

Cameron sighed again as she made her way to the sole bathroom in the studio. When she got to the doorway, it took her a while to process what she was seeing.

"Foreman!" she called out, taking a tentative step inside.

The neurologist was in the bathroom a few seconds later. His brow wrinkled in puzzlement when he saw the carnage before him.

The medicine cabinet was open. Medicine bottles were opened and multi-coloured pills lay scattered on the floor. Cameron picked a few bottles, studying the labels. They were mostly vitamins ... but what caught her attention was-

"It's fluoxetine," she said, her voice low. She gave Foreman a guilt-laced glance. She felt like she found out Chase's dirty little secret. Chase, who kept his life private to an almost paranoid degree, would never want anyone to find out about this.

Even Foreman was taken aback.

"Anti-depressants? Chase was taking anti-depressants?" Foreman asked in surprise, then frowned. He let that piece of information sink in before continuing: "There have been documented cases of fluoxetine users suffering from side effects such as sweating, fever, chills ... and there are rare cases where patients exhibited memory problems. It explains almost all his symptoms." A pause, then: "But they don't cause such a severe reaction like what Chase is having now ... at least not in documented cases."

Cameron stared at the bottle, then at the pills on the floor. "How much did he take?"

Foreman's frown deepened. "After taking the pills ... he went to the bar. Presumably to take whiskey. Alcohol and anti-depressants ..."

They exchanged a quiet look. They realised then that they found out more than they should comfortably know about their colleague.

OoooOooOo

"Dr House, you can't go in there! I'm going to call Dr Wong!" yelled a nurse.

That was the only warning Chase had before House marched into his room, together with a reluctant-looking Cameron and Foreman. Both looked chagrined for some reason. That made him nervous. He tried to sit up straighter – emphasis on tried – and ended up only a few inches up the reclining bed. Chase steeled himself and tried to meet House's amused/irritated glance as levelly as he could.

"You're not my doctor," he said as calmly as he could.

"True. But that doesn't mean anything to me. So, seen any good shrinks lately?"

Cameron flinched while Foreman sighed and crossed his arms, looking as if he didn't want to be part of this interrogation.

It took only a moment for Chase to piece together what House had done.

"You broke into my apartment," he said in horror.

"No. I told Cameron and Foreman to break into you apartment. And do you know what I think? You took a couple of pills, headed down to the bar to finish the job by downing some alcohol. Gee, Chase. I punched you, I didn't say I _hate _you," said House.

"House, stop," Cameron said.

"What, now you're calling me suicidal? I cannot believe this!" Chase said in disbelief and laughed bitterly, fighting the tide of humiliation and despair inside him. He coughed, then dragged a shuddering breath. "Believe me, House. You're not worth it. If I wanted to kill myself, I would at least make sure it's a reason worth bothering for," he rasped.

"Side effects of fluoxetine overdose may include fever, nausea, dizziness, confusion _and _in rare cases retrograde amnesia. Your mistake was not that you tried to off yourself, but for failing to inform Dr Wong about your drug usage. Neat trick, taking that off your medical history. You want to preserve your precious secret so much? Well congratulations if you end up on the coroner's table when he prescribes you a drug that will conflict with the fluoxetine!" he snapped.

"It's none of your business what I'm taking. And how ... dare you break into my apartment! I'm not even your patient," he hissed between exhausted breaths.

"I'm hurt. And I don't care. When did you start taking fluoxetine?" House pressed on.

Chase stared at Foreman then Cameron; he shook with helpless rage, which didn't help with the chills or the fever raging in his body. He forced himself to a sitting position with shaking arms.

"You think you know me so well," he whispered breathlessly, glaring at House hotly. "You don't know anything about me!" He shifted his glare to Cameron, then Foreman. "_None _of you do!" he snapped, his voice rising a notch in volume. But all that activity and shouting proved too much for him. He then collapsed on his side listlessly, coughing weakly. When it was all over, his breath came in tortured gasps; his chest rising and falling quickly with shallow, panting breaths.

He took another gasping breath, but that didn't help either. His eyes shot open in panic as yet another breath resulted in little oxygen intake. Spots began to dance before his eyes even as he took another long, desperate breath.

Then one of the machines began to shrill loudly and he panicked further.

"Respiratory distress!" he heard Foreman say above his desperate choking gasps for air.

Sounds faded, the world became a blur ...

And then, suddenly, he felt overwhelmingly weak ... and it didn't seem important anymore to struggle as numbness permeated his body. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled up into his head was House peering down at him, his blue eyes so intense they seemed to glow.

Then nothing.

OoooOoOoo

House shoved Cameron aside, quickly grabbed the laryngoscope and an endotracheal tube from the nearby crash cart and pushed Chase onto his back. Expertly, he tilted the man's head, and intubated him, and removed the stylet. Cameron passed him an ambu bag, which he quickly connected.

He pumped the bag rhythmically and they watched as Chase's pale and slack features slowly lose its bluish hue. But it seemed like a long time before the monitors stopped shrieking and they were left with the rhythmic sounds of the heart monitor and the _whoosh _sounds of the pump.

"Hook him up to a ventilator," he told a shell-shocked Cameron. The immunologist quickly blinked away the film of tears on her eyes and rushed out of the room, casting a last look at Chase's limp body before she went out the door.

Foreman was by then listening to Chase's chest with a stethoscope. When he looked up a moment later, concern was etched on his features.

"There's fluid in his lungs. He has pulmonary oedema," he said.

House returned his gaze to Chase's pallid features, the livid bruise on his jaw the only colour on his face.

"This is more than a fluoxetine overdose," he muttered.

OoooOooOo

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

That remark, shouted out so loudly that patients and nurses down the corridor paused to look at the source, echoed around Cuddy's office. Cuddy, however, was not the source of the roar but one Dr Jensen Wong. Cuddy sighed and walked to her office door and closed it.

"How can you tolerate this, Dr Cuddy? He's gone too far this time! This time, he has stressed my patient so much that he has gone into respiratory arrest. What next? A heart attack?" he yelled.

"Stress doesn't cause pulmonory oedema, you moron," House shot back. "Transfer Chase to my care," he demanded of Cuddy.

Cuddy could barely reign in her snort of disbelief, but Dr Wong voiced it for her.

"What? Now you're calling me incompetent?" he yelled, his face now red from fury.

"Gee, it's not _always _about you, you idiot. Confusion, fever, memory loss, dyspnae, and now pumonary oedema – does that sound like garden variety pneumonia to you? Or even your average attempt at suicide? Transfer Chase to me, or else he dies," he snapped. "Oh, no offense to your abilities, of course, Dr Wong."

Cuddy placed a weary hand to her aching head and sighed.

House continued: "We need to run a tox screen to rule out fluoxetine and other drugs; thankfully it's not drug overdose, which I doubt he had or else he'd be dead thanks to the speed of the treatment he's getting, but Dr Bright Idea here thinks it's _just _pneumonia."

"Pulmonary oedema is simply another symptom of pneumonia. We don't have any reason to believe that he doesn't have pneumonia!" Dr Wong snapped.

Cuddy gave up. She raised her hands and snapped: "All right! Calm down, everyone! House, there is no reason why Dr Wong can't handle Chase's case. And he is right, Chase has classic symptoms for pneumonia – I can't just allow you to order a tox screen just because you _feel _you're right."

"_Feel _I'm right? I _know _I am right-"

"You're not infallible, House," snapped Cuddy.

"Is everyone sleeping on the job or am I the only who noticed that Chase went from bright, sunny, and able to take a punch and still jump up, twelve hours ago, to this limp sack of sweating meat now? Whatever he has is progressing at warp speed, and the longer we think that it's _just _pneumonia the less likely it will be for us to catch this thing in time!" he snapped.

Cuddy refrained from chewing her lip as she tried to make a decision. She hated to admit it, but she knew that House was right. Again. The symptoms seemed to suggest just pneumonia, but the pneumonia – especially the speed at which it developed - could be indicative of something far more serious. And she knew that for Chase's sake, House was the right person for the job. Only he could "outdiagnose a speeding bullet," to quote Wilson.

After agonising seconds passed, she nodded stiffly and then sighed. "Okay. _Fine_. I'm sorry, Dr Wong but-"

Dr Wong merely shook his head and stormed out of the room in a fury. She felt herself wilt inside at the thought of placating another furious doctor. She lost count of how many times she had to calm furious doctors in this hospital. She gave House an icy glare.

"I hope you're happy, House. And I hope it's not for nothing," she snapped.

"Oh, I'm happy. I won a bet with Wilson," he said. With a satisfied smile, he left.

Cuddy could only sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: **This is the chapter which I researched like mad for (like days and weeks, people) but still feel that it's inadequate. Still, I hope you enjoy it anyway. :)

**Chapter 5**

Just mere minutes after Chase was stabilised and hooked up to a ventilator (and after House had gotten back from his "session" with Cuddy), Cameron and Foreman sat in the office, still as statues, while House wrote on the white board:

_Memory loss_

_Confusion_

_Euphoria_

_Sudden onset of fever  
Chills_

_Profuse sweating_

_Coughing_

_Dyspnea_

_Pulmonary edema_

House circled the last word, tossed the marker pen unceremoniously on the table and demanded loudly: "Differential diagnosis! So, what causes all this plus pulmonary oedema?"

"A wide variety of respiratory pathogens," said Cameron, her voice tinged with frustration.

"Well, then, humour me. You're the immunologist - narrow it down!" House snapped.

"What about anaphylaxis?" Foreman volunteered.

"He doesn't have any known allergies," Cameron said quickly. "And it doesn't explain the memory loss, or euphoria."

"You memorised his medical history? How sweet!" House remarked with fake joy.

"I'm talking about the antibiotics you gave him," Foreman replied, looking pointedly at Cameron. "Maybe he's allergic to them."

House shook his head. "There was no swelling in his throat when I intubated him. And he had breathing difficulties way before this episode. Any better ideas, Sherlock?"

"Pulmonary oedema could be indicative of a heart problem – like mitral stenosis," countered Cameron.

"Aren't we reaching here? It doesn't explain the sudden onset of fever _or _the euphoria _or _the memory loss," Foreman said.

Cameron sighed in frustration and rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Memory loss and euphoria ... could be indicative of something neurological."

"But his symptoms are also classic for massive infection - septicimia," Foreman said. Then he threw his hands up in frustration. "Neurological symptoms with symptoms of an infection – a brain infection."

"Oh wow, the neurologist thinks it's a brain infection. _Original_," House remarked.

Foreman threw him a glare which House expertly ignored.

"Cameron. Get the chest x-ray results and have some blood drawn for some blood work. We need to know whether its cardiac pulmonary oedema or non-cardiogenic oedema," House instructed. "Foreman – go to that bar Chase was talking about. Find out what the hell he's been doing those missing hours."

"What, we're not going to do an MRI?" Foreman asked in shock.

"He's still convinced that Chase took drugs," Cameron said, her hard gaze still on House.

"In case you weren't awake, Cameron, your boyfriend was high this morning. And the strong, sexy smell of whiskey? Not the latest hot cologne from Madison Avenue," House said sardonically.

"You still suspect drug toxicity after all this?" Foreman asked, disbelief tinging his words. "We have already ruled out fluoxotine. I gave a call to Chase's doctor, remember? A doctor Chase was told to see on Stacy's insistence after that malpractice suit. The doctor prescribed the fluxotine to Chase months ago, incidentally, the time after his father died. Chase didn't even bother taking the medication – it was barely touched."

"What, is this Save Chase's Reputation Day?" House asked in mock amazement.

Foreman's expression hardened. "I don't get where you're going with this whole drug problem thing. Chase may be a kiss-ass, but he's not stupid enough to kill his career by being careless. Unlike certain people," Foreman said, pointedly looking at House.

House threw him an unreadable look. "_Now,_ you believe him? Gee, make up your mind already," he said sarcastically.

"Besides, he already told you that he didn't do any drugs," Cameron said indignantly.

House gave them a sardonic grin. "So, both of you have decided that drugs couldn't be involved because you know the guy so well. Wow! I'm touched. Now, let me refresh your memory on the no.1 rule in medicine: Everybody lies. _Especially _doctors. Now do the tox screen," he said; his voice had taken on a hard, impatient edge.

The two tossed him a frustrated glare and then marched out of the room.

OooOOoOoo

He was a neurologist who graduated at the top of his class. So, what was he doing in a seedy bar asking a waitress about his friends' nocturnal activities?

The waitress, Susan, looked puzzled at first, then her eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh yeah, soda guy," she said, grinning widely.

He frowned. "Soda guy?"

"Yup. He's one weird guy. Cute and sweet, but just different, you know? He drank nothing but soda the entire night," she smiled as she wiped the table top, as if recounting a fond memory. When she completed her task, she caught Foreman's disappointed and chagrined look.

_Chase was telling the truth all the while, _he thought.

"What's the matter? Don't like his choice of poison?" she teased.

"No ..." he sighed. "The man, Dr Chase? He's sick and we need to find out what he was up to the past few hours before 7am in the morning."

"What, he can't remember?" she asked, a frown of concern etched on her forehead.

He shook his head.

"Is he okay? Why is he sick? I mean, he was all right when he came in last night. A bit banged up but-"

"He is in the ICU, and we need to know what he's been up to, what he drank and ate while he was here. Or who he was with," he repeated, this time with stronger emphasis. His mind caught on to the possibility of a highly contagious disease – the thought of an infectious disease sent shivers down his spine, but he hope it does not come down to that.

"He was here until 3am. With that guy," she said vaguely.

"What guy?"

"Um, some overly-familiar guy. I just served him one drink and he treated me like he known me all my life. Creepy dude," she said.

"So, what were they doing?"

"Drinking. Chase with his soda, the guy with his whiskey."

"Nothing peculiar happened during the whole time?"

She frowned then said: "You know, come to think of it, there was something weird for a while."

"_Now, let's try something stronger, shall we?" the man asked. He began pouring himself something from the flask. Even from where he sat, Chase could smell the strong scent of whiskey._

_Chase stared at the silver flask then shook his head._

"_No, thanks." He looked away pointedly._

"_Huh. You really don't drink, do ya? What are ya, some kind of ex-alcoholic? If you are, you sure are in the wrong place, dude."_

_Chase lips thinned into a bitter line. "Call this my way of reminding myself of the past." Then he frowned and shook his head. He gave a short laugh. Then began laughing in earnest._

_The stranger smiled. "Something funny?"_

"_No. I was just thinking ..." he took a deep breath and looked as if he had a hard time stopping his laugh. "I was just thinking that I'm an idiot, you know? Sticking around House like some kind of crybaby."_

"_You need to complete what you need to do."_

_Chase looked at him curiously. "You know a lot about me. About House." He smiled at that. Then burst out laughing._

"_And you're ... happy," the stranger said, a big, satisfied smile on his face._

"_God, yes. I have no idea what the hell I was upset about. You know, I need more soda," he slurred._

_He got up – too quickly – and ended up bumping into a guy who was approaching the bar. The man cursed as he lost grip of his glass and its contents – which ended up on Chase's shirt._

"_Look where the hell you're goin, pal! And you're gonna pay for that refill!" the man growled._

_Chase shook his head as if to clear his head and then gestured vaguely to Susan. "Yeah, it's on me."_

_Susan frowned. "Hey, you okay there?"_

_Chase looked back at her and blinked heavily. "I'm fine. Just ... tired I guess. Gotta go home now."_

_She watched him as he weaved his way through the crowd unsteadily, but she didn't think much of it. It was, after all, 3am, and the sugar high must be doing him in by now._

"If I didn't know better, I thought he was drunk," said Susan, giving Foreman an amused look. "Drunk on soda, now that's something new I've got to-"

"Are you sure he didn't drink anything _but _soda that night?" he asked, his voice taut.

She frowned at the interruption, but shrugged. "Well, yeah. I was the only waitress on that night. Like I said, it was a slow night."

"Did Chase leave his drink alone?"

Susan looked really puzzled now. "He might have. I mean, there was just me so I couldn't watch every drink, you know? And he was here for a long time, so he must've had a toilet break during that time."

"And the man? He left with Chase after that?"

"Yeah, around 3am," she paused. "What's this about?" she asked with a heavy frown.

"A possible diagnosis," Foreman muttered, more to himself.

OoooOoOoo

Cameron took Chase's medical chart with numb fingers. She studied the numbers and charts; his O2 levels were rapidly decreasing, something Cameron didn't have to look at the charts to know. She threw a furtive glance at the bed. The nurse was adjusting Chase's blankets – he had just been given a sponge bath – and the nurse, Miranda, was it? - was giving Chase a forlorn look.

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Miranda said, her voice a whisper.

Cameron frowned. She didn't know what to say. Saying "of course he will be" seemed like such a blatant lie. So, instead of answering her, she asked Miranda a question.

"Did he wake up at all?"

"I think he tried. I gave him a bath just now and he moved a little, but that's about it."

Cameron looked at Chase lying limply in bed – now raised so that he was almost sitting up – hooked to the ventilator. The only movement he made was the mechanical rise and fall of his chest as the ventilator did his work.

"Dr Cameron?"

That snapped her out of her daze. "Yes?" she asked, closing his file.

"Who do we call? His family, I mean," she said.

"I ... I will handle that. Thanks for your concern, Miranda," she answered awkwardly. To tell the truth, the thought had not even occurred to her until Miranda brought it up.

Miranda gave her a vague shrug, saying that the nurse's were all concerned for Chase, which surprised Cameron. Chase kept to himself so much that he didn't appear to have friends.

Her thoughts went back to the report of his condition – it had only gotten worse after his respiratory arrest. He was sweating so much that the nurse had to change his gown, and his fever had risen another notch to 104. The antibiotics were obviously not working. House had prescribed diuretics for the pulmonary oedema, and had placed him on an IV to replace the lost fluids from his heavy sweating.

She almost longed for the restless movements of Chase's anxiety-ridden sleep; at least, anything to indicate that Chase was in there somewhere. Closing her eyes, she told herself that she had to be back to the lab to conduct some tests.

ooOooOooOoo

House told himself that he had better things to do than to watch a man in a near coma breathing through a tube. He told himself that _General Hospital,_ which is showing now on the small portable television resting on his knees, was far more interesting. Yet, here he was, with his feet up on Chase's bed watching the man hanging on to life.

Chase's condition has gotten remarkably worse in just an hour. His O2 levels have decreased despite the work of the ventilator. The fluid in his lungs had not increased, but neither has it decreased. His mind ran through the possible diseases that he could have, and there were far too many possibilities and too little probable diseases.

If it was any consolation, Chase did make minute movements once in a while, as if he was trying to regain consciousness.

_Where the hell were the test results? _He fumed inwardly. And where the hell is Foreman? Sure, it's just been half an hour since he charged sulkily out of the hospital on his errand, but what was he doing at the bar – the Macarena?

He didn't turn when he heard the door to the ICU room open.

"House!" Cameron whispered urgently. He saw that her face was taut with confusion and urgency.

"The test results?" he demanded, dropping his legs to the floor.

She nodded, and then cast a concerned look at Chase. House didn't wait for her to ask about Chase's condition. It was obvious to all that Chase was going downhill fast. He marched past Cameron as quickly as his limp would allow and snapped: "_Well_, what are the results?"

Cameron handed him the X-Ray scans, which he held up to the light to study.

"The chest x-rays indicated bilateral infiltrates, his leukocyte count is very high, about 32,000 per cubic mm and his BNP levels are low-"

"Making a cardiac cause very unlikely," House announced.

"House. That's not all," Cameron said, her voice becoming more urgent. "I did the drug test. You were right. There were drugs in his system: gammahydroxybutyrate, to be specific. It explains his feelings of euphoria, the confusion and the memory loss. But pulmonary oedema is not a finding associated with GHB," she said, confused.

House's mind began to work quickly, and the conclusion he was starting to formulate was so outlandish, so out of there, he wasn't even sure he could voice it yet.

"House!" It was Foreman. The two looked around to see the neurologist running towards them breathlessly.

"I think I know what happened," he said.

"House was right. He took drugs," Cameron said for him.

"No. He was _given _drugs," Foreman said. "House, I think someone drugged Chase – just what it is-"

"It's GHB," she replied quickly.

"Explains the loopiness this morning. But it doesn't explain his pulmonary oedema, or the fever," Foreman replied, confused.

"Unless that was _given _to him as well," House said, his voice low.

It was as if someone stopped time for a moment; Cameron and Foreman froze and stared at him in disbelief as they took in what he said. Slowly, realisation dawned on their stunned faces.

"House, that's a crazy theory even for you," Foreman remarked, but his voice lacked his usual firmness.

"What pathogen can be aerolised?" House demanded, his voice grim, ignoring Foreman's remark.

"House ... it doesn't make sense. Why would anyone want to do this to Chase?" Cameron's voice was shaking.

"I didn't ask for a question!" he barked, his irritation barely disguised. "What pathogen can be aerolised? Come on!"

Foreman shuddered at what House was implying. "Staphylococcal enterotoxin B?" he offered.

"SEB has a more rapid onset. And its symptoms are far less acute. _Usually._ If he was exposed to significant levels of SEB – and seeing that we're in this situation right now all bets are off - pulmonary oedema may result. Do a nasal swab. We need to rule it out, but we need to quickly rule out a host of other aerolised agents as well."

"It ... it could be chemical. Phosgene poisoning produces acute respiratory distress syndrome," Cameron said, her voice shaking.

"Close, but no cigar. There's the mitigating factor of the fever and chills," House responded. "And in case you're wondering pulmonary anthrax, there is no evidence of mediastinitis in his chest x-ray." House said. He was walking again, heading determinedly down the corridor.

"I can't believe this is happening," Cameron said under her breath, which both House and Foreman heard but ignored.

"Q fever," Foreman said. "Coxiella burnetii can be inhaled as well. And the symptoms fit: sudden onset of high fever, confusion, the chills, sweats, and chest pain."

_And if it is Q Fever, at least the chances of him surviving would be high, _thought Cameron. _Unless ... unless the virus has been modified somehow. _She shuddered at the thought.

House shook his head again "As much as I like him to have Q Fever, considering the alternatives, he developed his symptoms in mere hours, not two weeks. But start him on acetaminophen for the fever, and streptomycin just to cover our bases if it's tularemia, Q-Fever and other nasty respiratory critters. We need to cover all our bases," he said.

"House ..." Cameron began hesitantly. "What if it is SARS?"

They froze at that suggestion.

"We'd have seen an outbreak by now, at least in the area where Chase lived or at the hospital itself," House replied.

"But it _is _possible," Foreman murmured. "What if the whacko managed to aerolise SARS somehow? Or create a more virulent form of the virus?"

"Then we're all exposed, and on the way to being dead," House said bluntly.

It was then that Cameron and Foreman realised that they had walked to Cuddy's office.

"Guessing games are unproductive and stupid. Chase has probably been exposed to the agent for over 18 hours. So get your asses moving. And excuse me while I tell Cuddy that we're in the middle of an act of bioterrorism," he said. With that, he left them alone, stunned at the fact that things have turned from bad to terrifying.


End file.
